Clutch_A Rock Bottom Novel

by Gabriel Love

  “He was asking questions about some bird. I told him I don’t know shit.” I hear him spit on the other end and know he’s calling me from work and isn’t totally sure who might be listening. His discretion is smart. “He’ll be back. Want me to take out the trash?” he asks.

  We both know he’s offering to make the fucker disappear. But only an idiot would say something like that on an open phone line. Reasonable doubt. We’d spent years in and out of the system after dad fucking quit on us. We’d learned what to say, how to drop off a map, and how to throw people off our trail. But when he’d gone good, I’d gotten in deeper. A lot deeper. So deep I should never have gotten out.

  “No,” I say. I’d never let my brother do my dirty work. This fucker is my problem. And I already have an idea how to handle him.

  Glancing over at Caitlin, I notice how her chin is held high. How her eyes sparkle while her helmet hangs from her hand. The wind whips at her hair and the grin on her face grows as she combs it back out of her face with her fingers. She’s ready.

  Her gaze is locked on me even as all eyes in this shithole are on her. The relaxed set to her shoulders and her carefree smile tell me she’s not afraid of her own shadow anymore. Talking to me did something for her. It changed how she saw things. Changed her mind about herself, who she wants to be and what she wants from life. Carl will never hold her back again; she won’t let him.

  “You sure?” Dex asks.

  “I’m sure. Got to go, man. Don’t forget Smith.” Of course, Smith is the Smith and Wesson pistol locked in my desk. Who knows what the dumb fuck might do. Warning Dex is natural now as it has been all these years.

  He agrees and we hang up right as Caitlin comes to a stop in front of me. “Who was that?” She asks, a smile toying with the corners of her lips.

  “Dex.”

  Something in her expression shifts, as if she feels the danger in the air. “Oh. Is he okay?”

  Her worry about my brother is heartwarming. “He’s fine. Let’s get to our room.” I pull my helmet on and she nods, doing the same. A moment later, I’m watching her throw a graceful leg over her bike and noticing the admiring glances of guys around us. And I want to fucking hit every last one of them.

  She pulls out and I’m hot on her tail as she leads the way. All the riding has really put her at ease. She’s comfortable, at home even, on her bike now. It’s good to see. I meant it when I said she’s a natural. There’s just some uncanny sixth sense she has regarding where her body leaves off and the machine begins. She bridges that gap and becomes one with the motorcycle in a way I can feel but can’t explain for shit.

  Once we pull into our hotel, she parks right up front and is off her bike in a moment. Her hair spills free as she takes off her helmet and I walk up and in the front door with her.

  “So what did Dex have to say?” she asks, tucking her helmet under her arm while she walks.

  “Actually,” I say and she instantly tenses up. “I have to go for a little while. He needs me and it’s not something I can do over the phone.”

  Fear rolls through her and I see goose bumps prickle up her neck as she unzips her jacket. “I’ll come right back and meet up with you after,” I promise.

  We step into the elevator and she turns to me when the door closes. “I think that’ll be okay. I mean, you’ve already done so much for me.”

  I sense the struggle in her. She wants to beg me to stay. She wants to tell me she needs me. And if she does, I’m ready to tell her she doesn’t. But she says nothing. When the elevator opens on our floor, she pushes past with a smile at the people waiting. I keep up with her as we head to our room.

  “So I’ll be back in a couple days,” I tell her and she nods, grinning up at me like she can hide her panic with a smile. At our door, I watch her pull out her key card and open the lock. And I remember that first night running. She refused the card. She didn’t want to hold onto one. Didn’t want to leave the room.

  I want to tell her I’m proud of her. That she’s making huge strides.

  But I don’t say anything like that. Instead, I pull her into my arms. Her eyes lock on mine and I bring my lips down on hers. All the tension seeps out of her and she moans a little. Instantly, I’m so hard I can’t see straight.

  Fuck. It takes everything I have to step back instead of moving her back into the room, locking the door and trying to get my fill of her.

  “I’ve got to go,” I say. But I can’t leave. Something roots me here, some need to help her, warn her, prepare her. Brushing a lock of her hair back from the curve of her cheek, the corners of my lips twitch as a shiver runs through her. The way her lips part is enough to drive me wild and I focus on her eyes.

  “Don’t let the demons win,” I say softly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caitlin

  Something doesn’t feel right. After so much time with Carl, I’d learned to ignore that little nagging feeling I get sometimes. But I’d never been able to tune it out completely. And now it’s screaming.

  Pacing again, I grab the remote and flip on the news.

  Pausing for a moment to chew my thumb, I read the scrolling bar of breaking news. Picking up the little burner phone Axl had gotten for me, I check it for the zillionth time. No calls, no texts. He’d programed his number in for me in case we were to ever get separated.

  I thumb in the shop number and call Dex, glad I’d memorized this number a lifetime ago. Back when I’d been way too scared to take home one of Axl’s business cards, I’d decided that the best thing to do would be memorize the number. Not that Carl ever let me use the phone.

  Well, I guess to be fair, he never told me I couldn’t use it. But since it never left his hands or pocket, I’d felt weird. I mean, I shouldn’t have had to ask for the phone or permission to use it. And he’d never handed it to me like Axl had and told me to call people. Or even offered it like Axl had that first night.

  “Hello?” Dex says on the other end of the line.

  “Hey, Dex,” I say, hearing the nerves bleeding through in my voice. “Is Axl there? Is he okay? I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “Did you call him?” Dex asks, all unflappable cool and calmness that puts my racing mind at ease.

  “No.” I feel silly. Why wouldn’t I call him first?

  Dex doesn’t even miss a beat. “Well, I just got off the phone with him ten minutes ago. He’d stopped for a drink and to piss. He hesitates, inhales, then says, “Sorry. I mean he stopped for a drink and to visit a urinal.”

  “Thank you Dex,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face. He’s a good guy.

  He clears his throat. “You’re welcome.”

  I get off the phone, feeling like maybe my gut is wrong. Everything seems to be going just fine.

  I jolt as someone knocks on the door. The playful rhythm of knocks makes my blood run cold and I stare at the door in shock. I know that knock.

  Carl found me.

  I’m wound up tighter than a tinker toy. Terror is crashing over me in waves and white hot prickles roar over every inch of my skin.

  “Catie… come on out. We need to talk.” Carl’s voice sounds so reasonable, so calm. But I know better.

  “Talk through the door,” I say, realizing I’m done running. I’m done letting him control my life. I’m done being his doormat. This ends here and now.

  “I’ve missed you. Why don’t you open the door and give me a hug?” He sounds almost pathetic.

  “You’re never touching me again, Carl,” I say. It feels so damn good to say it. Finally, I’m in control of this situation. “You made sure of that when you hit me.”

  “I’m so sorry babe. Nothing excuses my actions. I’m an asshole. How can I make it up to you?” There’s a pleading quality to his voice that makes something in me sure he’s telling the truth. I steel against that thought. Maybe he does mean it. But he’ll mean it until the next time. And maybe next time he loses his temper, it’ll be with a closed fist. Or a knife. Or a gun. I d
eserve better than this guy.

  “You could march down to the police station with me so I can file a restraining order against you. Then you could tell them you hit me and turn yourself in.” It feels so good to say the words even though I know he won’t do it.

  “Is that what you want?” he asks, a hint of hostility bleeding into his voice. He’s quick to eradicate it and adopt that sad, pleading tone. “I’d lose my job, babe. You know they’ve got a zero tolerance for that kind of thing.”

  “So do I,” I say. And suddenly, I want to look him in the face and tell him it’s over. I need to confront him. Need to make this real. Pulling open the door, I step out into the hallway and close my door behind me so he can’t push me inside and lock us in out of sight of people. This way, anyone could walk by and I could scream and draw a lot of attention.

  “I’m done with you, Carl,” I say, looking up into his angry brown eyes. “I never want to see you again. Never.”

  His eyes narrow a little bit and I see him eyeing my cheek.

  “Do you want to hit me again?” I ask, stepping closer to him, silently daring him to do it. “It’ll be the last thing you do before they slap handcuffs on you. I mean it, Carl, I’m done.”

  He steps back. Straightens his jacket lapels. Gives me a disdainful look. “You were my least favorite fuck anyway,” he says. “Just laid there like a dead fish.”

  I can’t help but smile as an image of Axl holding onto my hips as I bucked into him fills my mind’s eye. “Maybe I just needed the right guy to get me moving,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.

  Fury fills his expression, but I’m not done talking. “I hope you get what you deserve,” I say. I don’t mean him ill. I should, I guess, but I don’t feel mad at him anymore. I feel… free. Of him. Of his power. Of his lies. I hope he treats the next girl better, and if he doesn’t, I hope she has the sense to get out while she can.

  “Good bye, Carl,” I say.

  He storms off down the hall toward the elevator and I watch him go, feeling like an ugly chapter in my life is ending. And it feels good.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Axl

  The stupid fucker is snarling he’s going to kill the bitch and I grab him. Jerking him back into my room, I lock the deadbolt while he yells at me.

  “The fuck you doing, man?”

  Grabbing his shoulder, I push his face and body against the wall and talk into his ear in a low, threatening voice. “You fucking touch her again, I’ll bring hell down on you.” Jerking my sleeve up, I show him the tat and feel him jolt.

  “What the fuck do the Brothers want with her?” Hs sounds incredulous.

  “None of your goddamned business,” I growl. “You touch her, I’ll take you apart cell by cell with a blunt hammer.”

  I could stop now. I could let him go. He’s not going to fucking touch her. Maybe that’s what a good guy would do. I’m not fucking good guy.

  Yanking him away from the wall, I throw him down. And set on him, my knuckles smashing into his face again and again. I feel teeth snap. Feel bone give. Feel blood flow and the sting of my knuckles. And pull myself off him.

  Wiping my hands with a towel, I hear him crying like a bitch and lean back on the wall. This isn’t me losing control. This is me, calm. Me more clearheaded than I’ve been in a while. Fear is familiar. Fear is a language I speak.

  He’s watching me. “Fucking psycho,” he says, his face already beginning to swell up like a rotting melon while he tries to rise to his feet.

  “Hurt another woman and you’ll see me mad,” I say calmly. “And you’ll meet my brothers.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. It’s not an empty threat. I left my brothers. And most people that try to leave do so in a body bag. But I’d managed to split diplomatically with the understanding that I’m worth more to them alive.

  “Okay,” he says, his voice stuttering. “Can I go now?”

  “Not yet,” I say. Grabbing his arm, I pull it close to me. He whimpers, fighting my grip as I pull out my pocket knife. “You scream and it’ll be your face next,” I warn him. With that, I slice the back of his hand into that familiar pattern.

  Blood flows and I feel the corners of my lips curl. He’s branded. In a day every brother on the street will know every little detail of his life. He’ll never piss again without someone watching him.

  “Piss off,” I say, shoving him into the door. When it slams behind him, I start cleaning up the room. Wiping down every little speck and spot of blood that managed to hit the walls, I growl a little tune while I work. I fucking missed this. Everybody’s got something they’re good at. Intimidation is my strength.

  The sudden thought of Caitlin floods my mind. I told her I’m a monster. If she knew how bad she’d rightly tell me to go away. She’d never see me again. I rinse out the towel in the sink and tuck it back in my bag, glaring at myself in the mirror the whole time. I swore I was out. But I’ve only proven I’m still in as deep as I was before.

  Pulling the phone from my pocket, I call her. She picks up on the first ring, her voice filled with excitement. “He came here!”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, very real concern in my voice. I know she’d been physically okay. It had been smart of her to keep it out in the hall, to not let him into the room with her. But I’d been ready if he managed to push her back into the room. I’d been there, watching, waiting, just out of her line of sight but able to see and hear everything. I’m more worried about wounds she might have that I wouldn’t be able to see.

  “I’m better than okay!” she says, “I told him off. That it was over. It feels so good! I wish you were here.” A hint of sadness creeps into her voice. “Will you be back soon?”

  “As soon as I can. Turns out Dex could figure it out himself. I’m on my way back.” I’m fucking proud of her. She’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. She doesn’t need to be afraid. She took on that asshole head to head and didn’t even flinch.

  And I took care of the backend to make sure he didn’t get any cute ideas. He’s not a threat anymore. He might be in her mind, but he’s not. I’m not a fucking hero. I’m a worse scumbag than the fucker she was with. But she’s safer now.

  “I miss you already,” she whispers into the phone while I look down at the tattered flesh on my knuckles.

  “I miss you too,” I say before I can stop myself. I’m fucking up all over the place with this girl. She’s got me inside out and upside down. Fuck.

  I can hear the smile in her voice. “If you’re not back tonight, I think I’m going to close my eyes, think about you, and,” her voice lowers to the merest shred of a whisper, “touch myself.”

  A growl rips from my throat and it’s all I can do not to charge directly to her room, yank open the door, shove her down and fill her over and over until this ache is gone.

  “What do you think of that?” she asks, a playful note to her voice.

  “Fuck,” I grind out. What do I think of that? I think I’m fucked.

  “Sound good?” She asks in that throaty, suggestive voice that’s such a far cry from her shy first attempt to turn me on. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she adds, lowering her voice to a whisper again, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

  My cock is so hard I can’t think straight and I slip a hand down my pants to wrap around my stiff member. The image of plunging up in her overwhelms me and I tug myself roughly.

  “Fucking keep talking,” I growl and I hear her shocked intake of breath.

  And she keeps talking.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caitlin

  I’ve been watching through the peephole, knowing he’s on his way because he’d called to tell me so. When I see his form on the other side of the door, I throw it open and launch myself into his arms.

  He holds onto me as I wrap my legs around his hips and grip him like there’s no way I’ll ever let go His powerful arms close around me and I feel his palms press flat to my back before sliding down to hold my backside and help
brace my weight.

  “I missed you,” I say softly, meaning every word.

  Lifting my head, I press my lips to his. He growls, walking me back into the room and letting the door close and lock behind us as he lowers me onto the end of the bed.

  His voice is husky and dark when he speaks. “I can’t get enough of you.” He growls, running the tip of his nose over the little half inch of flesh showing between the hem of my shirt and the waistband of my pants.

  My heart begins to beat double time and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Swallowing hard, I lift my head to watch him as he eases the hem of my shirt up and presses his lips to my belly. Inch by inch, he bares my skin and it’s the strangest torture for him to move so slowly, so carefully, with such calculated intensity.

  And I notice his knuckles are messed up. Grabbing his hands, I pull them closer to my face. “What happened?” I ask. Meeting his eyes, I see conflict there.

  “I had to kick the shit out of someone.”

  I see no remorse in his eyes, but I do see something dark and scary. And I see fear. Just a little bit, just a hint, like he’s worried this is what will make me walk.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Is the other guy?” I ask.

  He hesitates, then nods. “He doesn’t deserve your pity,” he growls.

  “All I care is that you’re okay,” I whisper, meaning it. Letting his hand go, I notice the look on his face as that hand presses to my belly and moves to grip my hip. There’s disgust in his eyes, hate and self-loathing turning inward in a way that scares me.

  “You did what you had to do,” I say and his gaze ticks to me. With brute strength, he lifts me upright and pulls my shirt off, then my bra. My heart thunders in my chest as he gently lowers me back and wrenches off my pants. He growls in pleasure when he finds I’m not wearing panties and the expression on his face is so tightly controlled I feel a stab of excitement.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingertips skimming over my breasts, down my ribs and across my belly. There’s reverence in his eyes and I just bask in being worshipped. His head lowers and his heated lips touch my belly.